


In The Woods Somewhere [Director's Cut]

by CorvidFightClub



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cages, Collars, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Multi, Needles, Noncon Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Werewolf AU, assholes in love, background Reaper76 - Freeform, background ana amari/reinhardt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/pseuds/CorvidFightClub
Summary: Hanzo has spent years of his life a captive werewolf, fighting in underground dogfights for a master that values his ability to kill and nothing else. One night he's stolen from the back of a transport van and wakes somewhere new.A small farm in the woods somewhere.[The Big Long E-Rated Version of the fic of the same title I wrote for the Rising Moon Fanzine.]
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 34
Kudos: 196





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The Big Long E-Rated Version of the fic of the same title I wrote for the Rising Moon Fanzine. The zine had a word count limit and I'm bad at those, thus had to reframe the story and write a much smaller scoped fic. This is the big one I had to back-burner. People keep asking for it for some reason.
> 
> Read the gaddamn tags pls

Hanzo rested his cheek against the metal of the cage wall and did his best not to vomit. Crouched there, his wrists secured to the walls by reinforced steel bands, he wouldn’t be able to stop from getting it all over himself. They had forced him back from his wolf form too quickly after the last fight. He hadn’t healed entirely where the other wolf had knocked him into the side of the ring. A lucky moment. Despite being dazed, Hanzo had still won. The rusty taste of blood was still on his teeth. Katsuo’s Dragon had yet to lose a match.

He stretched his shoulders, tipping his head back until his forehead grazed the top of the cage. It made his collar squeeze uncomfortably against his throat but it dulled the throbbing. Closing his eyes, he imagined the night sky, clean and cool. That he was pressing his forehead to the moon itself, smooth, welcoming as sleep.

The van jostled and the moment was broken. Onto the next city with its hidden fighting rings full of sand and blood and filth. Katsuo was not the sort of man to rest on his laurels. 

_ “Hm. Hanzo. That is an old man’s name.” Katsuo pacing in front of his cage, considering him. A small man, well into his sixties and easily mistaken for some one’s gentle grandfather, his fingers sporting thick, gold rings. “Doesn’t stir the blood when yelled in a crowd.” _

Hanzo jerked his head up from laying on his shoulder. Another engine near the van, too close. The van swerved. Hanzo braced himself with his hands to the cage walls as the world fishtailed back and forth, then tipped sideways and slid in a cacophony of screeching metal, thumping to a final halt.

Slamming doors. Yelling. The tell-tale  _ zip  _ of silenced firearms.

Hanzo threw his weight weakly upwards, trying to right his cage. He wouldn’t be caught with one arm awkwardly strung up and the other crushed under his own weight. 

One of the van doors was torn off with a metallic wail. A slight, hooded figure bobbed into view.

Hanzo pressed himself to the back of the cage, snarling as the front of it swung open. There was a sigh, then a handgun was pointed at him.

“I’m sorry.”

The trigger clicked. No explosions, no searing pain, only a pinch--Hanzo looked at his arm and the dart protruding from it with puzzlement. 


	2. 2

He woke soft, slow, lying on his stomach. There was the distant trumpeting of an upset horse, closer still was a woman humming. Hanzo opened his eyes and the room swam into focus. It was wooden and dusty, light spearing in through the wooden slat walls. A woman with a long white braid stood washing her hands at a deep, dented sink.

Eyes on her, Hanzo took stock of himself. The headwound was a dull pressure now. He felt bandages when he shifted his weight. Padded restraints circled his wrists, holding him to the table. One hand sported an IV, a clear fluid bag hanging from a nearby tack hook on the wall.

But his collar was gone. 

His attention narrowed on the woman. She had to know he could shift at any time without the collar and its needles full of endorphin cocktail to force him out of it. He could be off the table and on her in a heartbeat, restraints or no. 

As if hearing his thoughts, the woman turned and looked at him, her lined brown face giving him a wry smile. “You’re awake,” she noted, drying her hands on a ratty towel. 

He growled, showing his teeth.

The woman tilted her head and spoke in Mandarin, I will not hurt you. When he didn’t respond she said the same again in Japanese.

“I speak English,” Hanzo rasped. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d used his voice other than to snarl and howl. 

“Ah, good. That makes things easier.” She leaned her hip against the sink and slung the towel over one shoulder. “Before you draw dire conclusions, we freed you as a rescue. The sedative and restraints are for everybody’s safety.” Her smile became harder. “Not all the wolves we rescue are in good enough condition to not lash out. You’ll be out of them soon once we know you can control your shifting.” She picked up a pillow and brought it close, leaving it on the table within his reach. “Rest for now. I’ll be back shortly.” She left the room without so much as a backwards look, closing the door behind her. Very trusting. 

Hanzo pulled the pillow closer, sniffing it. An older wolf, male, in good health despite his years. A younger one close to his own age, also male and close to rut. He ate well, if his scent was an indication. Hanzo rubbed his face on the pillow, covering their scents with his own, then rested his head on it, more tired than he'd anticipated. There was no immediate danger and he was no fool. Any time he could give his body to recover before making an escape was crucial. 

Some time later there was a knock on the door and Ana entered with a tray. The thick smell of meat had Hanzo's interest and he found himself pulling unconsciously at the restraints, saliva collecting in his mouth. Silently he cursed Ana's slowness, the time she took by the sink to wipe it down, to fix her braid, to fold an armful of blankets and place them on a shelf. Hunger was no stranger. Hanzo had deliberately eaten little in the past to keep his body from going into rut. His handlers took it as some abnormality and didn't investigate. As long as he kept winning fights, making them money, he was safe from being forced to play stud. 

All the self-discipline that had allowed him to starve before evaporated now in the face of a plate of meat slabs. His soft whine became a growl at the last moment. 

Ana put her hands on her hips. "I'm going to untie you. All of this food is yours without competition. Afterwards we'll see about getting you cleaned up. May I touch your wrists and ankles?"

Hanzo clenched his jaw to keep from licking his lips and nodded. Her touches were quick and light, his ankles then his wrists, careful not to jostle his IV. Hanzo was upon the tray of food before she had fully backed away, dignity gone in the face of his body's howling need for sustenance. The meat was warm, bloody, fresh. It wakened a faint memory of a restaurant in Tokyo, eating his fill of sashimi and laughing with--

His throat closed, appetite dying. Blood on his hands--in his mouth--

"Deep breaths, son."

Hanzo pressed his hands to the cool table. His gut clenched painfully around the food as he took in slow breaths through his nose.

"There you go," Ana encouraged. "You're here. Now. It can't hurt you." She went to the door, lingering there. "I'll show you where the shower is when you're ready."

Hanzo forced down the rest of the food and pushed the tray away, stood carefully and paced until the IV tube pulled at his hand. He'd always done this; pacing mindlessly in what limited space he had until the memories went away and his body remembered where they were. 

Rough boards under his feet. The smell of chickens, horses, sunlight.

"Alright," he rasped, taking in a deep breath. 

Ana approached him, pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. She pointed to the IV. "Let's get that taken care of." Hanzo held out his hand, the other tapping restlessly against his thigh while she made quick work of the needle. 

The shower in the barn was old but well maintained, likely used when the occupant was dirtier than they were willing to walk into a house with. The water was warm if a bit hard and the pressure generous. Alone now--Ana out of earshot--Hanzo took his time scrubbing himself free of sweat and blood and dirt. When his hands reached his hair, he found a good portion had been shorn almost to his scalp. The head wound was still tender but healing fast. 

When he stepped from the shower, there were fresh towels waiting, a pile of clothes, and, miraculously, a shaving kit. He kept running his fingers over the towel as he dried himself, lingering over its softness. The clothes were worn and baggy on his frame, but they were the first he'd worn in recent memory and he wouldn't turn his nose up at them. 

Setting the shave kit next to the sink, he regarded himself in the mirror, all unkempt and shaggy. Hanzo smoothed a hand through the scraggly length of his beard, considering it. The greys coming in aged him more than he was comfortable with, but to shave it completely seemed...wrong somehow. He hacked off its length until it was short enough to shape with the electric razor in the kit. 

He pulled what was left of his hair into a ragged tail at the back of his head. 

Bracing himself, he looked in the mirror. In the clothes that didn't fit, his hair graying, his face his own and yet not--his cheeks had been fuller, mouth not as severe when he'd last seen them in a mirror and not hazy metal. Odd, he looked odd. 

He backed away from the mirror.

Ana waited outside in the sunlight, picking at something on her pant leg and ignoring the chickens hovering close by, hoping for feed. She smiled at him, a disarming thing. From what he could see, she had no weapons, had fed him, let him clean himself, had given him clothes. None of this said escape would be particularly difficult if he chose to. 

Perhaps there would be more food if he lingered.

The chickens scattered as Ana lead him around the barn.

The sky yawned open suddenly. A valley green with trees opened below them splashed with sunlight, hills and mountains rising around it. The breeze was cool and sweet and clean as it tugged at them and--

Hanzo dropped into a squat, head near his knees as he gulped air. 

"I'm right here," Ana said, kneeling with him. She put a cool hand on the back of his neck. "It's a lot to take in, I know. I should've let you rest longer."

He focused on the dirt and the slow passes her hand through his hair until he could stand. She ushered him towards a farmhouse with a long, wrapping deck. 

Once inside, the overwhelming feelings subsided, though the hair on his nape stood on-end. In the quaint trappings of the kitchen the smell of the old wolf was strong. The creak of floorboards, the sound of robust humming, then a massive man entered the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. The man stared down at Hanzo with one blue eye, his expression and body language neutral. Draping the towel over his shoulder, he offered Hanzo his hand. 

“Welcome to our home,” he rumbled. “I am Reinhardt Wilhelm. Rein, if you wish.”

Hanzo’s posture was stiff as they shook hands. “I am Hanzo,” he answered. Despite Reinhardt’s hand engulfing his own, the old wolf’s grip was friendly, the lines of his body relaxed. Hanzo eased a fraction. 

Their hands dropped away naturally and Reinhardt scratched self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Ah, sorry for the hack-job,” he apologized. “We had to see to the head wound and I’m used to clipping horses. Could clean it up for you if you wanted.”

“Perhaps. Thank you for the offer.” Hanzo hesitated. Sensed muscle memory from long ago. He gave a shallow bow to them both. “And for tending me, a stranger. I owe you a great debt.”

Reinhardt scoffed. “Nonsense, we have much space. Stay as long as you like, especially if you do not mind doing dishes--”

Ana hit Reinhardt’s arm with the back of her hand. “You old scoundrel, asking a guest to do dishes,” she chided. 

The big wolf shrugged. “What, I am helping him feel less in-debt!”

Dinner was roasted vegetables and thick cut steaks with the lightest of cooking. Neither of his hosts seemed offended when Hanzo sat himself on the other side of the long table, his plate piled high with food, and watched them as he devoured the meal. He had worried about prying questions but Ana and Reinhardt all but ignored him, caught up in the gentle bickering of people who had known each other for a long time. 

Belly so full it almost cramped, Hanzo sat back from his plate and heaved a sigh. 

Reinhardt beamed. “You liked the meat! I have been perfecting how long to cook it. It’s an art.”

“I fully endorse your work, Reinhardt-san,” Hanzo commented.

Ana got to her feet and beckoned. “Come out to the back porch. I’ll even your hair out with a proper razor.”

The evening air was brisk as Hanzo perched on a stool, watching Ana open the black bag that held a wireless shaver and a collection of guards. “Do you want it all off or are you keeping some of it?” she asked.

Hanzo stared at her, didn’t understand why the razor wasn’t already against his scalp, his matted hair falling around him in clumps while someone held his head against the floor. 

Ana paused, watching him. “We don’t have to cut it,” she said gently. “It’s up to you.”

Hanzo passed a hand back through it, pausing on the short patch here the wound had been hours ago. It hadn’t been this long and clean since Hanamura. A lifetime ago. “Perhaps…” he gestured with one hand, “Leave the top as it is, shave the sides to match?”

Ana nodded. She showed him the razor and the guard to make sure it was the size he wanted. “Tell me to stop if you need me to,” she said, parting his hair carefully on both sides with a comb, then tying the rest back. She turned on the razor and Hanzo closed his eyes.

Ana followed the razor with her fingertips, chasing away the cool touch of metal, brushing bits of hair from his neck and shoulders, humming something to herself as the birds sang their last before turning in for the night. Hanzo caught himself anticipating her touches and leaning ever so slightly into them. Reprimanding himself, he held himself still until he heard her turn the razor off. 

A small mirror was pushed into his hands. “Take a look,” Ana said. 

Hanzo smoothed a hand through his beard, tilted his head. A sure departure from the wretch he’d been this morning. “Thank you,” he said, handing the mirror back.

Ana smiled, was telling him he was welcome, but Hanzo’s attention was on the edges of the yard, the rustle of claws and paw pads in grass as a dark shape loped just beyond the reach of the porch light. Hanzo stood and put himself in front of Ana, halfway down the porch steps, a growl rumbling in his chest. 

“It’s probably Jesse,” Ana said. “He brings in the horses at night. There aren’t a lot of wolves out this far that would go past Rein and Jesse’s markings.”

A man came jogging around the barn and into the light, shirtless and tugging up his blue jeans. The wind shifted, bringing Hanzo his scent. Sharp, musky, dangerous. Hackles rising, Hanzo leapt the last few steps and met the stranger yards from the porch.

Jesse came up short, posture stiff and he smiled, showing straight, white teeth. “You’re the new guy, huh? No offense but you’re between me’n dinner and that ain’t a wise place to be.”

Hanzo tackled him. They rolled across the grass, snapping and snarling, their hands becoming clawed, teeth sharpening, eyes glowing. A sudden deluge of water made them split apart, shaking heads, trying to get water out of their ears.

Ana turned the hose aside. “It’s late and I’m old. Pick up your fights tomorrow.”

Inside, Jesse made for the kitchen while Ana steered Hanzo into the living room. One of the worn couches had been made up with blankets and a pillow. The cushions did their best to swallow him when Hanzo sat on it. "Just until you figure yourself out," Ana said, crossing her arms. "If you decide to stay awhile, we will get you a proper bed."

Hanzo pushed a cushion away from his face. "It's more than enough. Thank you."

Ana nodded, shut off the light, and went upstairs, the steps squeaking under her. He could hear Jesse and Reinhardt talking in the kitchen. The ticks were bad this season. Trotter had a bald patch under her leg. Murphy lost a shoe. They needed to move the goats again, as they'd eaten all the ivy already. 

Jesse left again through the kitchen door some time later, Reinhardt following Ana up the steps. 

The house settled around him. Hanzo closed his eyes, exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come. He felt exposed, everything too soft, too vulnerable around him. Dragging the comforter behind the couch, he slept on the floor between the wall and the furniture.


	3. 3

Hanzo woke the next morning with a start, hearing footsteps through the floorboards and disoriented by the blanket wound around him and the couch at his back. Clothes. Hanzo touched the sleeve of his shirt. He wore clothes.

A radio in the kitchen switched on and flipped stations. Ana sang with it as the sounds of food being prepared echoed through the old house. 

Hanzo squinted through welling tears, then gave in and shut his eyes, burying his face in the comforter, glad for the din in the kitchen covering his quiet weeping.

They had both been nearing eighteen when the changes began. Just after midsummer and all its heat. Hanzo suffered them first, waking at dawn in the field behind Shimada castle, his clothing dirty and torn, but no blood or evidence of violence. And he remembered. 

The moon, the trees, the smells and sounds all incredible and maddening in their ferocity. There had been such elation. But waking up in the tall grass with dirt under his fingernails, fear took root in him like an insidious plant. Shivering, he had picked himself up to slink across the field, cross the old moat, and scaled the wall of the castle. Inside his bedroom, he had closed the door and crouched on the mats. Genji had been first to find him, and whether that had been a blessing or a curse, Hanzo didn’t know. 

"Amazing!" Genji had exalted. He had grabbed Hanzo's shoulders. "You'll be unstoppable, Hanzo. Father will be pleased--"

"No--" Hanzo had slapped his hand across his brother's mouth and eyed in inner door, fearful of a servant walking past. "Genji, this must stay a secret. Promise me."

"But--"

"Promise me."

With a sigh, Genji had agreed to remain silent. "But won't he find out eventually?"

Hanzo, in the naivety of his youth, had replied, "Not if I'm careful."

Breakfast was well along when Hanzo approached the kitchen, his tears dry, face no longer flushed. There was a small stack of pancakes but the meal was largely bacon and sausages. Mouth watering, Hanzo piled his plate high and plunked down at the table. He was well tucked into his food when Jesse dropped himself into the seat next to him, uncomfortably close and smelling of barn.

"Morning, sunshine. How'd ya sleep?"

Hanzo growled but was caught chewing. The way Jesse smiled at him, the bastard knew it.

"That well, eh? Try the hay loft. Mighty comfy up there."

Thus it continued. 

Jesse ran his mouth with the occasional jab at Hanzo, leaning into his space and being a general nuisance until Ana turned from the stove, a withering look on her face and a wooden spoon held ominously in one hand.

Jesse vacated the kitchen, mumbling something about feeding the horses. 

Ana scraped the last of the bacon grease into a glass jar, saying, “Don’t mind him. His heart is good, even if the rest of him is an idiot.”

Hanzo grunted in reply. He brought his plate to the sink and was reaching for the sponge when Ana rapped his knuckles with her spoon. “No. The guest does not do dishes. Go explore outside. The air will do you good.”

Rubbing his knuckles, Hanzo retreated out the back door. 

The morning air was cool and the sky clear, the sun close and warm as he walked the property. A small group of goats followed him along the fence from inside their pen, blinking their strange eyes as they craned their necks towards him in search of food.

“Beggars,” he said. Ana had been wise to ply him with breakfast meat; he felt vague interest in perhaps chasing them but no desire to kill. He patted one on the horns and went on his way. As he rounded the house, the mountains sloping down into the valley came into view, as breathtaking as when he’d first seen it the day before, but he could admire it now instead of feeling like putting his head between his knees.

Jesse’s scent reached him on the wind before he heard the scuff of the other wolf’s footfalls behind him. Such arrogance, approaching Hanzo from upwind. 

“You a city boy? ‘Cause you sure gawk like one.”

Hanzo bristled, turned a glare on Jesse. "You presume much, redneck," he snarled back.

"Aw shucks, darlin'. It's all the flattery."

Hanzo wasn't sure his ' _ don't call me darling _ ' made it from his lips before he shifted and he was chasing Jesse's russet form across the yard.

Jesse was agile for his size and Hanzo suspected Jesse let him get close more often than not. Hanzo felt himself dragging, tongue lolling, unused to outright sprints. The rings he’d fought in were small. There was no running. As good as the food and rest were doing him, he had more recovery ahead of him than he'd readily admit. 

As suddenly as Jessee ran from him, he turned and leapt, entangling them and sending them rolling down the mountain a short distance. Hanzo found himself pinned quickly, Jesse's teeth in his ruff and Jesse's weight bearing down on him. Hanzo struggled but his breath had yet to return and his resistance was feeble by his standards. Jesse backed away, flicked his tail with a grin, then trotted off.

Hanzo gathered himself and shot after the other wolf, snapping at his heels. 

They spent the afternoon like this until Hanzo was shaking and sore and angry about the whole affair. Annoying as he might be, Jesse was no slouch. Sitting on his haunches, Hanzo shifted back to human, soaked with sweat and covered in bruises and scrapes, his hair loose down his back. 

Jesse wandered closer, snuffing at Hanzo's hair until Hanzo pushed his head away with a snarl. Jesse sat back on his rear with an amused look, then shifted back as well. This close Hanzo could see the scars lining Jesse's torso and arms, the pale telltale dots of scar tissue around his neck that mimicked Hanzo's more recent ones. 

"Fuck off," Hanzo muttered. 

Chuckling, Jesse pushed him over and pinned him on the grass. “You’re a prickly one, alright. Lighten up,” Jesse said before sticking his tongue in Hanzo’s ear.

Hanzo snapped his teeth at Jesse’s retreating face, then rubbed his ear obsessively against his shoulder.

The following days were no better. 


End file.
